Kindred Hearts (34 page)

My God
, Charles thought unhappily,
Tris will
not
be happy.
Aloud, he said, “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Castlereagh handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here. Go report to General Hill; he’ll give you the details on your transportation. It should be a fairly easy assignment, but I’ll feel better if I know you’re there to keep an eye on things.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said. He took the papers and put them in his greatcoat pocket, then shook Castlereagh’s hand and turned to leave.

“Charles?”

He stopped and turned back to his lordship. “Sir?”

“Don’t let the word get out, please. You may tell your nearest and dearest, but we’re trying to keep this under wraps as long as we can. It’ll probably only be a few days before it becomes public knowledge, but we’re trying to avoid hysteria.”

“I understand, sir.” Charles nodded, bowed, and let himself out.

“
How
did Castlereagh seem to you?” General Hill asked as he perused the papers Charles had handed him.

“Resigned,” Charles said promptly. “Tired. Depressed. Understandably so.”

“Yes, sadly enough.” Hill gestured at the chair before his desk. “Sit down, Major. I’ll need to look at these and then write up some orders of my own before I let you go.”

“Sir,” Charles said and sat. He watched Hill’s face as he read through the documents, then met his eyes candidly when the general raised his head. “This will be difficult for him,” he said, “after the relative successes of the Congress.”

“Just being back in London has been hard on him,” Hill acknowledged. “But he shines under pressure, like his friend Wellington. We are damned fortunate to have two such men on our side, Mountjoy. France can have her Talleyrand; I’ll stand Castlereagh and Wellington against a dozen such.”

“Talleyrand is a genius,” Charles agreed, “and Castlereagh and Wellington much less flamboyant, but I have to agree with you. That kind of steady determination is what we need now.”

“Precisely,” Hill said. “And that’s why I’m glad Castlereagh is sending you with me. You’ll be a steadying influence on that young firebrand of a prince. I’ve already got reports of his enthusiasm that terrify me.”

Charles regarded the calm, phlegmatic face of the man before him. “Aye, sir, I can see that it does.”

“Young mackerel,” Hill growled in amusement.

“Who else from the staff is in Belgium?” Charles asked.

“March is there—of course he would be; his papa is in charge of the army, and the whole bloody family’s tagged along, sisters, hangers-on and all. If he doesn’t manage to marry off all the Lennox girls with all the northern army there, he’s no great shakes of an older brother. Slender Billy, of course. The 95th’s already on its way back from America, thank God, so Harry Smith will be there. I’m sure most of the Great Man’s surviving staff will find their way to Belgium, one way or another. They’ll not miss this.”

“I wish I could,” Charles muttered.

“You and I both, Major, but we’re a little more sensible than the other rabble.”

“The Duke’s permitted to refer to us as rabble, but he’ll take you to task for it,” Charles said with an unwilling grin.

“Oh, no fears,” Hill shot back, “he agrees with me. But he did give you a compliment, once. Said that for cavalry you were an intelligent man.”

“I’m well aware of his Grace’s preference for the infantry,” Charles said, snorting. “He and I have had discussions on the matter.”

“Which he wins, of course.”

“Of course. He’s Wellington.”

“Yes, he is. Well. Let’s take a look at these and make some plans, shall we?”

“
Much
better, sir, much better,” “Gentleman” Jackson said heartily, slapping Tristan’s bare shoulder and handing him a much-needed towel. “Thought Chesleigh had you there, once or twice, but you’re a bit faster these days. Glad to see the fire’s back. You were getting a mite peaky for a while there.”

“I was,” Tristan agreed with a grin, wiping the sweat from his face. “I’m happy to see that I haven’t quite forgot everything since I was here last.”

“On the cont’ry, sir,” Jackson said, “I think your little time away was good for you. You’ve put some weight back on and got the energy to go with it—somethin’ I ain’t seen in quite some time.”

“Thanks to my live-in physician,” Tristan said. “You haven’t seen him yet today, have you?”

“Physician? Oh, your brother-in-law?” The former boxer thought a moment, then shook his head. “He was here yesterday afternoon as usual, but I haven’t seen him today. Briggs!” he shouted at another man, “you seen Mountjoy today?”

Briggs shook his head and went back to trying to explain whatever it was to an intent student.

“No matter,” Tristan said and pulled his shirt back on, tucking it into his trousers and adding the waistcoat. Jackson signaled for one of his employees to come over and retie Tristan’s cravat for him, then invited him into the parlor for a drink.

“No, thank you,” Tristan replied, smiling. “I’ve a few errands to run, and then we’ve a dinner party tonight, so I’m pressed for time.”

“Errands?” Jackson snorted in amusement. “Thought you toffs had footmen to run about for you.”

“I wouldn’t trust a footman with either my haberdasher or my tobacconist,” Tristan said wryly, shaking Jackson’s hand. “I’ll see you in a day or two.”

“Aye, sir,” Jackson said, pocketing the vail Tristan had slipped him.

His haberdasher
and tobacconist taken care of, Tristan went home and upstairs to prepare for dinner. They were dining with another of Charlotte’s longtime correspondents, a Lady Cowan and her baronet husband, who had arrived early for the Season. Tristan didn’t know them well; he’d met Sir Henry once or twice, but they had few friends in common.

Charlotte came in while he was tying a fresh cravat around his neck, a letter in her hand and a perturbed look on her face. “Tris?”

“Yes, Lottie?”

“Have you heard any rumors about Napoleon?”

“No, why?”

“I just got a letter from Liesl. You know she and her husband are with King Ferdinand, the king of Naples, in Sicily.”

“The one Napoleon kicked out and replaced with his brother-in-law? Yes.”

“Well, she sent me a letter along with the diplomatic pouch to Whitehall; they’re always so kind about forwarding her mail as a courtesy to Ferdinand.” She held up the letter. A neat rectangle had been cut out of the middle. “This has never happened before! They always open her letters and reseal them under a government seal, but they’ve never
wrecked
them before!”

Tristan took the letter, frowning. The letter was in German so he handed it back to Lottie. “She must have said something politically sensitive,” he observed. “What does she say around it?”

“The sentence before starts, ‘Rumor has it that Napoleon…’ and then it picks up again ‘…there is nothing more to be said.’ How vexatious! We could have had the most current gossip about Bonaparte to share tonight!”

Tristan chuckled and patted her cheek. “You will just have to settle for being amusing, love. Are you ready to go down?”

“Yes.”

He went to the adjoining door and knocked. “Charlie? Are you ready to go?”

Charles’s voice came back muffled. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“All right.” Tristan turned to Lottie. “Come along then; we’ll have a cup of tea while we wait for Charlie.”

In the drawing room, Tristan poured Lottie a cup of tea and sat beside her on the couch. “How are you feeling?” he asked conversationally.

“Quite well,” she said, “if fat. I don’t remember being this uncomfortable with Jamie. Ellen says that that means it’s a girl. What shall we name her if it is? I had quite made up my mind that it would be another boy and had settled on ‘William’, but if it’s a girl that sets my plans quite awry. I don’t care for ‘Wilhelmina’.”

Tristan laughed. “I should think not!”

“And not after either of us, I think,” Lottie said. “I don’t like it when parents name their children after themselves. It’s too much like gloating.”

“Just be glad you’re not married to the future King of the Netherlands, then,” Tristan pointed out. “His boys are all ‘Wilhelm Friedrich’ and his girls are all ‘Wilhelmina Frederika’.”

Charlotte burst out laughing. “You’re joking!”

“And his wife’s name is Wilhelmina, which excuses the girls, but seriously!”

“Another mark against ‘Wilhelmina’ for this one, then,” Lottie said, patting her enlarged abdomen.

“Have you given it any thought?” Tristan asked.

“I was thinking Caroline Ellen Liselotte,” Charlotte mused. “After Charles and Ellen and Liesl.”

“That’s quite accept….” Tristan trailed off as Charles came into the drawing room.

He was dressed in his full dress dragoons uniform: white satin breeches, dark blue uniform coat laced with gold, a chapeau bras under his arm. His expression was somber.

“What the
devil
—” Tris began, but Charlotte interrupted him.

“Oh,
Charlie
,” she cried in dismay, “why are you wearing that? I thought you were quite decided on wearing your new coat.”

“Lottie,” Charles said quietly, “I’ve bad news, but it mustn’t leave this room.”

Tristan glanced at George the footman, who nodded and stepped out into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. “What is it, Charlie?”

“I’m being sent to Belgium with General Hill.” Charles hesitated, then went on, “Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped from Elba and is raising France. The French King has already left Paris and is on his way to Ghent.”

Tristan felt the blood drain from his face and his fingers went cold. “We’re back at war.”

“Yes. Or we will be, soon. Wellington’s being called back from Vienna, but until then, General Hill will be with the Army of Occupation in Belgium, and Lord Castlereagh’s asked me to go with him to liaise with the German forces there.”

“Oh, Charlie,” Lottie said.

“No,” Tristan said bleakly. “No, Charlie,
please
.”

“Tris—I don’t have a choice. I’m still an officer of His Majesty’s Army. I have to follow orders.”